


Blood Lust

by PotatoesOfWorldlyDesire



Category: Being Human (UK), Being Human (UK) RPF
Genre: A hint of it anyway - Freeform, Addiction, BDSM, Blood, Dark, Dark Mitchell, F/M, Forgiveness, Kinda?, Love, Mannie - Freeform, S/M, Sex, Violence, explicit - Freeform, not much, vampire, vampsex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-04
Updated: 2016-08-04
Packaged: 2018-07-29 09:51:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7679791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PotatoesOfWorldlyDesire/pseuds/PotatoesOfWorldlyDesire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As told from Mitchell's perspective- just because you can find a release doesn't mean you should seek it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood Lust

I watch Annie, sleeping, breathing. Lain out plain for me on the bed with her caramel skin wrapping her blood inside her like a fine gift of wine as her eyelashes move faintly, caught up in some dream... I'm caught up in the dream of her body, there and alive and so ripe for the plucking. 

Normal women worry about their boyfriends watching pornography- not Annie Sawyer. She knows that her body is a symphony of different ecstasies for me. Blood from her neck, her breasts, her thighs; fuck! Even from her ankle it tastes so raw and powerful and utterly divine. When you've been a vampire as long as I have you finally realise why we drink blood- it's not quite in the taste- yes, that's succulent and divine, but not that, no... It's not the squirming and writhing and desperation of the final moments in the throes of rhapsody where you know that you are the most important thing in the pathetically short life of your meal... No, the reason we crave blood is far more intrinsic. Blood is life- it gives and takes away wherever it goes and stops, cruel and unforgiving and yet warm as a fire in a blaze of winter. 

She stirs as I shed my clothes and crawl in bed next to her, feeling the warmth of the blood radiating from her skin and feeling her breath fanning out over my cold and lifeless face. On any other night I'd feel guilty, feel something about what I'm about to do. But I don't. Fuck that- I'm a vampire, we were meant to do this. 

Annie mistakes my smile for something it's not, and leans in and kisses me- a lamb in the arms of the lion. This story never ends well, if the lion has anything to say about it. 

She's not wearing much- delicate black lace panties, a sheer tank- top that melts off of her shoulders like quicksilver. I take my time playing with the lace that separates me from where I truly want to be- I like to give pleasure, some part of me thinks that makes the blood taste all the better. She gasps and her hands find my hair as she guides my tongue to where she wants it most, despite my attempts at teasing. Fine. If she doesn't want to drag this out, why shall I? 

Over a hundred years of experience goes a long way in a time like this. I usually wonder if that bothers her- not tonight. Tonight it's aggressive, my tongue on her clit, my fingers sliding into her and pressing against her so deliciously, my other fingers in her mouth as she sucks, swallowing her own moans, her own cries, and my own name. When I feel her start to tense I have to confess I slow down; tonight I have every intention of being a cruel bastard, because that's who I am- what I am- who she's with. She curses around my fingers as they slip out of her mouth and leave a sticky wet trail down her body, around her nipples and down to the smaller tuft of hair where my own mouth resides as I suck each finger of each hand individually, keeping eye contact with her for each long moment. 

Her warm chocolate eyes are clouded over with lust and sex and frustration, causing me to smile wickedly as I climb over her body and straddle her, grinding my hardness against her thigh as we both groan in frustration. I lean into her ear and feel her blood rushing around her body as I cradle her head in my hands, angling it as I please as I whisper,

'Annie.'

'Mitchell.'

'Do you want to be fucked?' I enunciate 'fucked' with a thrust against her, enough to tease and not enough to penetrate her. She lets out a deeper groan with her eyes squeezed shut and I can see the words struggling up her throat as I growl, 'Look at me, Annie.' Her eyes shoot open and her breath quivers- when our gazes meet, I swear her heart stops for a second. Only a second. 'Do you want me to fuck you?'

'Yes!' She gasps out, and I lose any pretence about being gentle on the first thrust. 

She cries out, and grips the headboard of our bed as I hammer into her, the slapping of flesh-on-flesh sounding throughout the room like a melodious baseline to the sin I'm about to commit. Her breasts swing with every thrust and I lean down, latching onto one while my hand plays with the other. Not an inch of her body is neglected when I do this, my spare hand reaching down to play once more with her clit. She's so tightly wound now, it's like fucking into a time bomb and actually waiting for the boom.

Boom.

She tenses up around me like a vice, her hands clawing at my back and drawing me impossibly closer- whispering my name so delicately, like a prayer, I has to kiss her to shut her up, because I'm not complete yet, and when I am this room will not be a place for prayer. 

Annie has just finished spasming when I get close enough to let out a roar, and look at her loving face as it turns from attraction, to lust, to confusion, to fear and betrayal as my predatory eyes gleam at her, soullessly black and hideously beautiful as our union, as I sink my fangs into her neck, just shy of her carotid, so that she bleeds slower and my own release lasts for longer. 

She's struggling against me now, as I release inside of her and don't stop drinking, sipping her life from her like a fine wine that bubbles down my throat as I hold her hands above her head to keep her from flailing and hold her kicking legs with my own because I really do hate when they make a fuss of it all- it's just business as usual, after all. I don't stop drinking until she's stopped moving. Until she's-

My body tightens as my grip around my own member tightens and my release pools on my stomach as my mouth mutters 'Annie, Annie, oh, Sweet Annie' over and over again- an apology in my own mind, but to my ghostly girlfriend sat across from me, a sign that I love her and a making love to her in the only way we've been able to so far- her placing her hands on my temples while I masturbate. 

She can feel whatever I'm feeling, but not know what I'm thinking. 

When she gasps and shudders above me and then lies next to me, as I wrap my arms around her I can't help but wonder if that's such a blessing after all. She never asks why I sob so often as I hold her like this, her cold lifeless presence next to me in bed. But she's not cold or lifeless- she's Annie. My Annie, who doesn't know that whenever I come to her, it's never a way that I wish I could come to her. 

She soothes me like a child who's had a bad nightmare- which is an understated way of describing the past 100 years or so, but I suppose you have to start somewhere... I cling to her so tightly I'm scared I might break her, and so loosen my grip, and so on and so on in such a way that I make it impossible for us to sleep for a long while.

When sleep finally does come for me, I dream it all over again.

**Author's Note:**

> Woooo! More lusty Mitchell angst! I'm on a roll!   
> I wanted to experiment with Mitchell's more dominant desire for blood and that inner struggle with his love for Annie, so this was really fun to write- I hope you enjoyed it and thank you for reading!  
> Please comment if you have any constructive criticism!
> 
> Haters will be given in to a group of angry Mitchells.


End file.
